


the darkness that soothes

by quakeriders



Series: feysand tumblr prompt fills [9]
Category: A Court of Thorns and Roses Series - Sarah J. Maas
Genre: Angst, Dark fic, F/M, Hurt/Comfort, Implied/Referenced Torture, Minor Character Death, Past Rape/Non-con
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-04-24
Updated: 2019-04-24
Packaged: 2020-01-31 07:24:17
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,274
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18586528
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/quakeriders/pseuds/quakeriders
Summary: She had promised him.Promised, that she would not be taken for him and that he wouldn’t be taken from her. With her hands on his face and tears in her eyes, she had promised him that they would never be torn apart.She had failed him.Or: Rhys is taken by Tamlin and Feyre goes to rescue him





	the darkness that soothes

**Author's Note:**

  * For [HighLadyOfTheSith](https://archiveofourown.org/users/HighLadyOfTheSith/gifts).



She had promised him.

Promised, that she would not be taken for him and that he would not be taken from her. With her hands on his face and tears in her eyes, she had promised him that they would never be torn apart.

She had failed him.

And when Azriel’s spies finally figured out where they had taken him, something inside her snapped.

That tether to the human girl she had once been.

Standing in the dark, crumbling cave, she could remember how it felt the last time she had been here. How  _she_  had felt.

Desperate and in love for the first time in her life.

Weak and trembling and blind to the dangers around her.

She was not that human girl anymore.

And the male she had come for was her mate.

Her best friend. Her lover. Her partner. Her equal in every way. Hers.

She would not beg for his release, would not kneel and cry and make a fool’s bargain that would end with her spine snapped.

No, she was the high lady of the night court. She would enter that hellhole and claim what was hers.

Darkness and flames and ice whirled around her and the mountain trembled with each one of her steps.

She would not hide, would not try to sneak up on them.

She wanted them to feel her wrath. Wanted them to know that their death was approaching.

Because that’s what she was. Death and destruction and all of their nightmares made flesh.

The guards barely had time to raise their weapons before they died. Some turned to dark mist, some became screeching torches of living flame and some turned to ice and shattered into a million little pieces.

Others; those who sneered and dared to think about what had been done to him, choked. Either with lungs empty and gasping for air or drowning on dry land.

It didn’t matter. Slow or fast, they all died.

And then she was there. In the throne room that had broken her. Her feet on the red marble on which she had screamed and fought and died.

Her gaze lifted to the throne and found a familiar figure sitting there. He had been on that dais before. Not on her throne, but on a seat beside it.

His face was contorted with rage. It always looked like that in her memories.

"You’re a fool for coming here alone." Tamlin spat. "Do you think you can save him?"

"I saved you, didn’t I?" Feyre replied and despite the whirlwind inside her, her voice was even. Cold and unyielding, like the steel in her eyes.

"And you died for it." Tamlin stood from the throne and came closer. "Will you die for that whore?"

A snarl ripped from her throat before she could stop it. And then he was being pushed back by a wall of flame and hard air and hoarfrost.

He fell into the throne and it toppled, shattering on impact with the red marble.

She was there in a heartbeat, winnowing and placing one foot on his chest. "This time, you will die."

He laughed, a dark, cold laugh and Feyre wondered where the male she had fallen in love with had gone. Wondered if that male had ever existed. Or if it had all been a mask.

"You can not kill me, Feyre." He said, green eyes burning into her.

Only days before, that stare would have managed to make her feel small and weak and powerless. But there was no place in her heart for those emotions.

There was only rage.

And a desire to see him wither and die. Like a rose left to rot.

She pressed her foot down harder and relished in the pained gasp that escaped him.

"Don’t you want to know where he is?" He asked, lips cutting a cruel line. "Won’t you beg me to take you to him."

Feyre raised her hand, letting him watch as claws broke from her knuckles. His claws; his power. Hers.

She crouched down, leaning closer to his face and whispered, "No."

And then those claws ripped out his throat.

She left him there, gasping and moaning, and followed the scent that had filled her nose ever since she had winnowed to the foot of the sacred mountain.

She had never entered these caves before, never had seen the polished doors, engraved with roses and daggers and beasts.

They weren’t locked and she could feel the faint beat of his heart behind it.

Whatever they had done to him, they were sure he wouldn’t even be able to reach the door.

And when she finally entered the room, every thought in her mind stilled.

It was a bedroom.

Her bedroom.

Feyre knew, because she had seen those walls in his nightmares. Had seen that bed. And had seen him in it.

And the sight before her now was too much.

Rhys was naked, his wings out; spiked to the headboard. His arms and legs were tied to the bedposts with those enchanted chains. And every inch of his skin was covered in cuts and bruises and blood. His mouth was gagged and a dirty strip of cloth had been tied over his eyes.

A small, broken sound tore from her throat and she was rushing for him, wanting to touch him, to hold him, to tell him that he was safe.

But he heard her footsteps and all his muscles strained.

She could feel his terror on her tongue. Could feel him trying to twist away, to hide his wings, to disappear behind a wall of darkness.

Tears slid from her cheeks, as she spoke, her voice shaking. "Rhys."

She hadn’t thought it possible, but his muscles tensed more and those cuts began bleeding anew.

"Rhys, it’s me." Feyre said, her voice gentle, calming. And she knew that she had to get the chains off him, before he believed her. Before he would let her touch him.

So, she swallowed hard and removed the chains without even brushing her fingers to his skin.

When his hands were free and reaching for the blindfold, Feyre moved to his ankles.

A raspy breath filled the silence. "Feyre."

She looked at him. At his face, stained with tears and blood. At his wings, still as death and pinned.

"I’m sorry." Feyre whispered, finally unclasping the chains and almost sobbing when she felt the bond between them come to life again.

She reached for him without even thinking and almost fell into his mind when she found his mental walls in ruins.

A small groan came from his lips and Feyre approached him, watching as tears slid down his face.

She brushed one away and tried not to cry herself, when he flinched at the touch.

"I’m sorry." She said again and reached out with her magic; her darkness to remove the nails in his wings.

His whole body shuddered and Feyre blinked back her tears. "I’m so sorry, Rhys."

Once his wings were free, he tried to get up from the bed, but his body was so weak, so hurt that he couldn’t. Not without help.

"Let me help you." She said, unable to hold back her tears when he gave her a small nod.

She wrapped her arm around him, pulling him off the bed and onto his feet. He leaned into her and groaned deeply.

She wrapped her magic around them, felt his sigh of relief through the bond. The relief that the feel of the darkness against his skin brought him. She wrapped it tighter around him and winnowed him home.

 

**Author's Note:**

> feedback is v much appreciated.  
> lets play on tumblr: @quakeriders


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